


I Want To

by tachycardic



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mentioned Kim Mingyu, Mentioned Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Smut, basically strangers with benefits?, emotionally constipated Soonyoung, just a little, sex buddies, slow burn if a slow burn is only 6000 words and they start by having sex, yes there's smut. yes it's in the first scene but there's literally nothing but makeouts after that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26621080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tachycardic/pseuds/tachycardic
Summary: “Why would you do that?”“I wanted to be alone for a while.”Soonyoung glowers at himself in the mirror, says through foaming sweet mint toothpaste, “I meant, why did you come back?”
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 96





	I Want To

◖ ◗

“ _Ah fuck_ ,” Soonyoung’s breath catches when Wonwoo slows down. “Faster, go _faster–_ _fuck_.” He chokes when Wonwoo reaches between them to tug on his erection, and it's probably just to shut him up but it’s hard to feel insulted when such chemical lightning flashes through his veins. 

Soonyoung pulls him closer, effectively halting a perfectly good handjob, but the sloppy makeout he gets in recompense is definitely worth the loss.

In spite of how the sheets stick to the sweat of his back, in spite of how close he is to finishing _again_ , in spite of it all– he thinks about his good luck. How horrible it would be if Wonwoo was just some insanely hot hooker that wouldn’t even let you kiss them while you fuck. 

Wonwoo bites his lip and licks his palette, teasing. Soonyoung lets slip a sound between a breath and a moan, and he smiles, “You gonna come?”

And because Soonyoung has long since given up on holding out for the slim possibility that if he doesn’t come Wonwoo might _never_ stop fucking him, he concedes a wheezy, “Yes,” but Wonwoo’s already sitting up, taking Soonyoung’s thighs in his hands to finally go _faster_.

Soonyoung collapses on the bed, wholly drained of all life, sweat and cum. Wonwoo rolls over beside him, bed creaking as he gets up and Soonyoung closes his eyes.

He expects the telltale rustle of clothing and maybe the creak of the bathroom door, but the bed whines again as Wonwoo lays back next to him. An arm wraps around Soonyoung’s waist and he brings his eyes open in tandem with the slow drag of Wonwoo pulling them closer together.

He kisses him with already closed eyes and Soonyoung doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t give in to the impulse to ask, _are you staying tonight?_ Doesn’t break the quiet even though he wants to because the peace is just glass floor beneath them, ready to buckle at the slightest provocation.

Wonwoo slumps against him mid-makeout and he _doesn’t ask._

He wakes up in the dark.

Dim-to-the-point-of-eye-straining light casts vague shapes around the room and Soonyoung sees Wonwoo moving above him. Getting dressed.

He can’t tell if he wishes he would’ve _asked_ or not. He wants to ask now. _Please stay._ “You don’t have to go.”

Wonwoo stops and gives him a perfunctory glance, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Soonyoung rubs the heel of his palm over his eyes and sits up on one elbow. “Really though, you can stay.”

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his nose, lenses glinting darkly in what little light there is. He lifts Soonyoung’s chin with one hand and bends down to kiss him chastely on the lips. “See you later, Soon-ah.”

◖ ◗

“I want another drink.”

Jihoon scoffs. “I’m not your slave. Get it yourself.”

Soonyoung pouts, a drink or two too far along to find the restraint not to. “But I’m stuck,” he waves his hand between Jihoon and Mingyu flanking him in the booth.

“So am I.” Soonyoung stares at the back of Jun’s head on Jihoon’s other side, like it might get him to stop talking to Seokmin and move. It doesn’t.

“I’ll get it.” Wonwoo stands up from the other end of the table. Everyone sitting in the booth shifts almost imperceptibly to fill the empty space. “What do you want, Soon-ah?”

Jihoon narrows his eyes at the endearment and though there is already a healthy sheen of sweat across Soonyoung’s forehead, he heats up.

“Anything fancy enough to get the job done.” He gets an eye roll form Jihoon for that, but Wonwoo just nods, slipping away to the bar as Soonyoung calls out, _thank you_ , belatedly.

“He pays a lot of attention to you,” Jihoon points out, and Soonyoung scoots over on the bench seat. Mingyu glances at him over his shoulder like it’s a terrible inconvenience.

“Yeah, well, can you blame him? I am completely sexy.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes again and Soonyoung might think it was tic if he didn’t know him. “He certainly seems to think so.”

Soonyoung laughs because it seems like the right answer, “You’re crazy.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. Wrong answer. “Is this gonna be a thing?”

“What are you talking about? There’s no _‘thing.’_ ” Sonyoung tries to take another drink, forgetting that there’s nothing left of it and setting his glass down awkwardly, suddenly parched.

“But he’s into you.”

Ugh, god, what he wouldn’t give for Wonwoo to come back right now and interrupt this conversation. “How would _I_ know? He’s _your_ friend.”

Jihoon sighs, like he’s being forced to explain something simple to a very dumb child. Soonyoung’s not drunk enough for this. “He’s not _my_ friend, he’s Junhui’s. And Mingyu’s, I think. He takes a sip of his drink and Soonyoung’s mouth feels still drier. “Tall bastards.”

Soonyoung laughs, “I don’t think they really thought about that when they started hanging out.”

Jihoon’s side-eye game is healthy and getting stronger, if anyone asks. “Doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is, he’s into you. Do what you will with that responsibility but try not to fuck up so hard.”

Soonyoung catches Wonwoo’s eye as he comes back from the bar, thinks he feels the bones of his ribcage collapse a little. “He’s not my responsibility.”

“Are you coming home with me tonight?”

Soonyoung tenses, but Wonwoo’s easy laughter goes straight from the shell of his ear to the pit of his stomach, easing him.

“It’s me,” he steps out from behind Soonyoung grinning, full and toothy, like he usually doesn’t, but as wide as it is, Wonwoo’s big smiles hardly ever reach as far up as his eyes.

“I noticed.”

Wonwoo’s face falls flat as ever. “What ever happened to that incredibly complicated margarita I got you–” he swipes a finger under the bottom of Soonyoung’s chin and Soonyoung recoils, looking back at their friends, still trapped between each other at their doomed circular booth. None of them are watching. “Shouldn’t you be just as wasted as I am right now?”

Soonyoung turns back to him. “I’m an introspective drunk.”

Wonwoo laughs, loud and low, shining that million dollar smile at him again, but the light still just takes up half of his face, a solar eclipse. “ _No_ ,” he steps back behind Soonyoung, bending to talk back into his ear, too inebriated at this point to moderate volume, “you’re a horny drunk.”

Soonyoung laughs because despite his best effort he is feeling that margarita. “Projecting, are we?”

Wonwoo curls around him like a boa constrictor, something resembling a sly smile playing on his face. Soonyoung half expects a forked tongue to flick out of his mouth. Instead he gets a hand on his ass and a, _your place or mine?,_ right back in the shell of his ear.

The breath squeezes out of Soonyoung’s lungs like he really is being suffocated, his answer coming out all at once in half a wheeze, “Mine.”

That smile-to-fight-the-sun lights up his face again. “Knew you’d say that.”

Soonyoung flushes, hiding the curl of his fingers in Wonwoo’s shirt. He doesn’t say, _of course you did, that’s what I always say._

◖ ◗

Soonyoung almost impales himself on the doorknob when Wonwoo pushes him back against the door, but he slides around it at the last second.

“ _Mmmphfuck_ –” Wonwoo slides his arms around Soonyoung’s waist, squishing them between him and the door, and presses his lips to Soonyoung’s. The uber was torture, a game of chicken to see who would bow out of a makeout session first, and as powerfully sexy as drunk Wonwoo can be, the poor uber driver kept looking at them in his rear view mirror and Soonyoung pulled away first. To be fair, playing chicken with Wonwoo is like playing chicken with a brick wall. You bail or you crash.

The rim of Wonwoo’s glasses catches on the bridge of his nose, and Soonyoung pulls back, dazed and vaguely irritated. He takes the glasses, but before he can do anything with them– maybe toss them across the room for being a bother– Wonwoo takes them and tucks them away somewhere, practiced.

Wonwoo presses back against him with new vigor and Soonyoung can’t help but hum into the kiss.

A tight coil of heat swirls in Soonyoung’s stomach, aches when Wonwoo edges a thigh between his. “Oh,” _ow._ The heat burns, unyielding. A fire you can’t put out. It _hurts._

Wonwoo finally lets him break away, gradually dragging his lips up Soonyoung’s jaw to the spot below his ear before moving down his neck. Soonyoung really feels a little _too_ hot, he can already feel sweat gathering at the base of his neck, which aches and throbs in tandem with the coil in his gut.

Wonwoo bites his shoulder and Soonyoung groans, but it’s a sound of distress and agitation and Wonwoo notices. He pulls away and Wonwoo’s brow knits and he’s bringing up a cool hand to cup the fire of his cheek.

“Are you okay?”

Soonyoung closes his eyes, lets his head hit the door behind him. The coil in his stomach squeezes. He’s gonna be sick. His chest squeezes with the strain of deep breaths. Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick.

“Do you–” Wonwoo trails his hands up his arms and everywhere he touches aches too. “Are you gonna puke?”

Soonyoung squints teary eyes at him, and grinds the bones of his neck to let him nod, _yes._ The coil presses into him from all sides, inside out. It’s like being punched in _slow_ -slow motion, the air slowly squeezed out of him, making it hard to breathe. Sick. Sick. _Sick._

Another coil squeezes his throat and he opens his mouth to do, what. He doesn’t know. Relieve the pressure? Get one last breath? Say, _yes, Wonwoo I am going to puke_ , out loud and clear? Incredible panic stings painfully on his skin and for a second he really thinks he’s going to start retching, but a bubble of air pops in his mouth and the pressure is gone. But the coil is not.

“I feel sick.”

Wonwoo ducks his head, leveling their eyes. “You are sick,” he says, confirming.

Soonyoung just nods. The coil drives up his body again like a screw and he squeezes Wonwoo’s arm reflexively.

“You want to take something for it?”

He nods again.

Wonwoo looks over his shoulder and pulls him to the couch. “Sit down,” he says, and when Soonyoung’s settled he walks away, presumably to the kitchen.

Soonyoung’s head feels heavy against the couch cushions but he hardly notices it for the deep ache of his stomach. Sick. Sick. Sick.

“Here,” the sound of glass against wood rings in his ear. He opens his eyes and Wonwoo sits down beside him, pills and a mug of tea on the coffee table. “Are you okay?”

Soonyoung takes the pills and knocks them back with a mouthful of hot tea. Vague horror stories about tragically young actresses accidentally overdosing on unfortunate combinations of pills and alcohol pop up in his memory but he can only hope his karmic score isn’t bad enough to send him to an early grave.

“I threw up,” he sets the glass down and gestures to the bathroom. He had almost vomited on his living room rug before some holy spirit sent down a brown paper takeout bag from heaven to one end of the couch. Even then the race to throw it away before the paper disintegrated was brutal.

Wonwoo nods and, as usual, Soonyoung has no idea what he’s thinking, can only hope it’s not too bad. He feels a different kind of uncomfortable heat prickle on his face as he rolls over, turning away. “This is embarrassing.”

A hand slides over his hip, paradoxical in it’s own action. Too thoughtful and too tactless all at once. “It’s fine.”

Soonyoung groans out of _nothing_ more than frustration. “We’re supposed to be _fucking._ You can’t deny that it’s very unsexy of me to get a stomach bug.”

Wonwoo laughs and Soonyoung bristles. “Maybe you did this on purpose? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Soonyoung rolls back over to look at him, scowling even as Wonwoo slides the hand that was on his hip over his side and up to his hair. “Don’t make me feel worse.” He shivers, and lets Wonwoo think it’s from chills and not the feeling of his fingers brushing the hair off of his forehead. “Of course I’m not trying to get rid of you,” he says quieter.

Wonwoo’s smile softens into something a little more beat up. The PainCoil™ that had been fading since the angel takeout bag finally goes completely slack, unwinding like a measuring tape being pulled out from around him.

“Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Soonyoung takes too long to answer for it to not be well thought out but hopes it doesn’t matter, “Didn’t I say I’m not trying to get rid of you? Just stay.”

◖ ◗

It seems impossible that he has _ever_ let Wonwoo run out on him in the middle of the night. That he has ever let himself get swindled out of waking up with him. This should be considered a fraudulent scheme. Soonyoung should be able to sue Wonwoo for all the times he didn’t stay the night. All those times that Wonwoo cheaped him out of such blissful undisturbed sleep. Grade A, 1440p resolution, real leather, can’t believe it’s not butter, solid gold, purified mineral water, type shit.

He really should drag his ass to court for this.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” the soft slick sound and heat of lips and tongue moving on Soonyoung’s skin pulls him into consciousness. “ _Hmm,_ ” he hums again, “what are you doing?”

Wonwoo kisses another stripe over Soonyoung’s stomach before answering, “Don’t you like me better than your alarm clock?,” he slides a hand over his hip. Soonyoung doesn’t remember taking his shirt off last night, but it’s obviously not here to stop Wonwoo from watching the full body blush that starts to spill down his shoulders.

Wonwoo looks at him with the intensity of ulterior motives. It used to take a lot of internal coercion to convince himself to kiss Wonwoo. Now all it takes is the look in his eyes and a good night’s sleep apparently.

There is an incredible pro of making out still half asleep. Morning breath be damned, the soft sleepy warmth of lips and body heat is almost enough to make Soonyoung forget himself. 

“Hold on,” Soonyoung whispers, because it feels comme il faut. “I’m sick.”

Wonwoo pulls back in slow motion, looking as warm as he feels, laid carefully on top of Soonyoung so as to avoid falling off the couch, brown hair ruffled into soft curls and waves, cheeks pink and lined with impressions from blanket creases. “I don’t think food poisoning is contagious.”

Soonyoung straightens up, leaning back on his elbows. “I’m not sure that’s true actually,” he says, frowning. “I mean, it makes sense, but like–” he watches Wonwoo’s eyebrows slowly draw together to mimic his expression– “does it?”

Wonwoo stares at him for a minute or two more, deliberating. Finally he seems to decide, “I don’t care,” and presses morning hot lips against his again.

“Mmm,” Soonyoung’s mouth feels worked loose from Wonwoo’s tongue, easy to sound, easy to moan. But what are you _doing,_ Wonwoo? “ _I_ care, though.”

Wonwoo pulls away quickly, eyes wider than he usually lets them be. The confrontation feels brave and Soonyoung thinks he should at least pat himself on the back for not giving in as usual.

“Oh.”

Soonyoung feels suddenly embarrassed, cheeks flushing with heat. “I mean, I don’t care if you get sick–” wait, no– “I mean, I do– _of course_ , I do–” _shit, no–_ “I mean, _I’m sick,_ ” Wonwoo’s eyes tighten into something he can’t read, and he’s so fucking this up. “I just– am sick. Still. I still feel sick.”

The tautness in Wonwoo’s face smooths out into half a smile. He seems to think Soonyoung’s joking.

“I don’t want to have sex with you right now,” Soonyoung states firmly, confidence juxtaposed by the tight grip he keeps on Wonwoo’s bicep to keep from totally losing all connection with the material world.

Contrary to his expectations, Wonwoo’s half smile breaks into a full grin, handsome and easy and so unexpected that it pushes Soonyoung’s blush back up to where he can feel it at the tip of his nose and ears.

For a second, he thinks Wonwoo still must not get how serious he’s being, but he cuts over his anxieties, still grinning, “That’s okay, we don’t have to do anything.”

Soonyoung remembers some statistic he read once about the average heart rates of different animals. Something about bunny hearts beating super fast– three times the average rate of a normal person– when they get scared or stressed or agitated. Soonyoung’s stressed bunny heart beats overtime in his chest because being respectful of rejection has never been so sexy.

But sex right now would be pure weakness. He’s gotten this far into the day without it, might as well keep going for as long as they both can.

Wonwoo starts to slide off of Soonyoung into the crevice between him and the couch cushions– as though his giant stick bug body might actually fit there– and Soonyoung sits up in alarm, “I mean, we can still do _something._ ”

Wonwoo doesn’t pull himself up, just slides slowly further into the couch cushions. “What can we do,” he says, like a kindergarten teacher asking a question he already knows the answer to.

They lean into each other this time, both knowing what was coming. Wonwoo has to crawl out from between the cushions a little to reach him halfway and Soonyoung’s tongue already sits on the edge of his teeth when they kiss.

He doesn’t slip into a fantasy until Wonwoo brushes a finger under Soonyoung’s chin, pulling his face up by the suggestion of a touch. At that, he gets the sudden idea that he can do this all day, just slide his hand around Wonwoo’s neck and breathe in the skin at the corner of his lips. That, maybe, he doesn’t have work later. That he’s not still a little sick and hungover. That Wonwoo will stay with him for the day even if they don’t have sex. That Wonwoo will stay with him forever, let him sigh into his cheek and run his fingers through the baby hair at the base of his head.

“Love you,” someone says, into the open air between their mouths, and for an incredibly blissful second or two, Soonyoung really _doesn’t know_ who said it.

“Did you just?” But he knows.

He pulls back, keeping a shaking grip on the back of Wonwoo’s neck, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep him from making a break for it.

“Nope,” Soonyoung pops the p almost childishly. He really could go back and write his senior thesis on how much he hates himself right now.

Wonwoo pulls back still further, extricating himself fully from the couch cushions and letting Soonyoung’s hand slide off him, out of reach.

_“Soonyoung–”_

“Nope. I didn’t. I didn’t say anything,” he pushes himself up but Wonwoo shifts, sitting back on his knees.

“Soonyoung, you _know_ I can’t–”

“I _didn’t_ say anything,” he insists, leaning forward onto Wonwoo’s thighs. Wonwoo watches his hands warily.

For a second, Soonyoung stares at Wonwoo, willing him to believe him, and Wonwoo stares at Soonyoung’s hands, digging into the skin above his knees like he can become part of him.

Wonwoo shifts and Soonyoung squeezes his thighs before releasing him.

“I have to go,” he gets up, Soonyoung’s living room quilt slipping all the way from off his back.

Soonyoung gets up too, kicking the quilt off his feet to stand. Once he’s on solid ground he becomes immobile, stuck in an out of body experience watching Wonwoo take his glasses from the coffee table and walk to the door in long strides. He sits on the ground to put his shoes on and Soonyoung’s hands squeeze into fists.

Soonyoung stays frozen in his own body, feeling nothing but the painful crevices of his finger nails in his palms and the thick taste of his own spit, cementing his mouth shut as Wonwoo gets up again. He looks back at Soonyoung over his shoulder before he opens the door and Soonyoung thinks belatedly, _now, do something now._ But Wonwoo steps out and shuts the door and now is already over.

◖ ◗

_Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong– ding do– ding dong._

_Ding dong._

“Fucking–” Soonyoung throws open the door, hand stalling for a second as he just has time to think, _the peephole,_ before the door is all the way open.

Wonwoo steps past him, pushing the door open wider and, “Sorry. Doorbells are terrible.”

“What–” When Soonyoung turns, Wonwoo is already staring him down. He moves stilted, as though moving only when Soonyoung blinks, but closes the door, pushing Soonyoung back against it with a hand on his chest

“Hey– what are you doing?” 

Wonwoo hesitates, stopping with his other hand suspended between them. Soonyoung presses back into the door. It gives a little. He kicks it with the back of his heel to shut it all the way.

“I–” Wonwoo stops again, almost bashful. The way he sometimes gets when they end up sitting next to each other at friends-of-a-friend parties, when the only way to get from introversion to extroversion is to drink Minghao’s oldest wine like it’s just water. Water into wine. Wasted.

“Ugh,” Soonyoung wrinkles his nose, the bitter smell of hard liquor moving through him like he’s a ghost, “are you drunk right now?”

Wonwoo jerks back, caught off guard, he runs the back of his hand over his mouth trying to wipe off any incriminating evidence. “I don’t know.”

“You are.” Soonyoung slides out from between Wonwoo and the door. “You’re drunk, Wonwoo,” he says, like clarifying, making sure he knows. “Do you want–” his voice catches, he clears his throat– “water? Should I call you an uber?”

He edges toward the kitchen. It seems important to remember that when he’s _this_ drunk, Wonwoo is vulnerable. Soonyoung is vulnerable. _Liability._ The kind that makes Wonwoo look like he’s under a strobe light, all sudden movement and bright colors. It’s a special kind of drunk. A special kind of Wonwoo. Soonyoung used to call _this_ kind of drunk the _golden hour_ but stopped when Jihoon called him out on it.

“But I just got here,” Wonwoo complains, an edge of unnatural disregard to his voice.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Soonyoung asks, ignoring him. “Who drove you here?”

Wonwoo makes up the space between them in a second. “I wanted,” he reaches out, hands almost to Soonyoung’s waist before they’re retracted, “I wanted to,” he swallows, eyes shifting, and Soonyoung notices for the first time that he’s not wearing his glasses, half wonders how he even made it out of whatever bar he came from, “see you, I guess. That seems like a bad idea now– remember what you said last time?”

Soonyoung raises his eyebrows. “Because this is my fault,” he says flatly. Wonwoo frowns. “Do you want something from me? Water? Aspirin? _An uber?_ ”

“Ah,” Wonwoo finally settles his hands on Soonyoung’s hips like a reflex, muscle memory kicking in. Soonyoung tenses. “I still know it’s a bad idea– you obviously think it was a bad idea– but I’m here now, and,” he trails off and the implications are there, but his eyes are glassy and it seems like he might’ve just forgotten what he meant to say.

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows and it’s a bit too familiar to ignore the swoop of his stomach.

Soonyoung swallows, “Do you want anything?” He repeats, just to ease his consciousness when he doesn’t pull away.

The cotton of Wonwoo’s shirt is easier to focus on than anything else when he bends his head down and brushes his cheek against Soonyoung’s, so Soonyoung reaches up resting floating hands on floating shoulders.

“I want _you,_ ” feels almost like _I love you_ when it’s said this close to his ear.

The beginnings of surrender start to truly take his better judgement, but in it’s dying breath, Soonyoung asks again, “You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

Wonwoo brushes his lips against Soonyoung’s forehead, his cheek, his neck. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes but at this point he can only take in so much sensory information.

“Nothing, but this.”

Soonyoung’s eyes rip open just as Wonwoo closes the distance between their mouths, and he’s caught off guard for just a second of satisfaction, because his time spent in this limbo has never felt so long as when Wonwoo’s lips press against his– but _no_ . But _nothing, but this._

He pulls away, hands still stuck anchoring him to Wonwoo’s shoulders, Wonwoo still holding him by his waist. He moves to kiss him again but Soonyoung steps back, and all hands are off.

“Wh–”

“You can sleep on the couch or– better yet– go home.” _Nothing, but this._ “Take the bus or something– I don’t care. You shouldn’t have come,” for just _this_ , “we’re not doing this again.”

Soonyoun felt real pain, knowing that there was perfectly good instant ramen just a couple walls away, but Jeon ‘Eat-Your-Fucking-Heart-Out’ Wonwoo standing guard between them. It drives you to do risky things, that pain. Risky things like walk out of your bedroom in the dark because you’re overconfident that you can get to your own damn kitchen without stepping on anything. Or anyone.

“Hey–”

“Why are you _still here?”_ The fact that they are the only ones in the apartment doesn’t quell Soonyoung’s need to whisper– albeit incredibly harshly– not when it’s this late at night.

Wonwoo clutches his side on the floor, grimacing from where Soonyoung stepped on him. In all fairness, what did he expect, sitting right in front of his bedroom door. 

For a second Soonyoung is tempted to retreat and close his bedroom door back in his face, but he isn’t about to starve for the sake of his pride.

“You said I could stay.”

“I said you could sleep _on the couch,”_ he gestures furiously to the middle of the living room, the innocent and empty couch barely illuminated by street lamp light from the windows. “And I didn’t think you would actually stay.” You _never_ stay.

“I just wanted to say–” he gets to his feet slowly, still protective of his side– “say sorry, I guess. I thought– in the morning, but I guess this works too.”

“Leaving would have been easier,” Soonyoung steps around him, “because I already forgive you. Close the door on your way out.”

The walk to the kitchen is like a race through honey. He wills himself not to run in and slam the door, but he can hardly walk fast enough without feeling like Wonwoo is on his heels. His pace feels stilted and he swears he can feel Wonwoo’s breath on the back of his neck.

“Hey– you can’t just _forgive_ me.”

Soonyoung stops just for the pleasure of making a face at him.

“I mean, yeah, but I haven’t even apologized yet.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” the words taste bitter on his tongue. Sound incredibly true when he says them out loud. Wonwoo’s face falls like he was hoping Soonyoung would put up more of a fight. 

“I think I _do_ though,” Wonwoo says. His voice is quieter than usual in the dark. “Don’t I?”

The question is _too_ personal. Soonyoung feels like the victim of a poorly assembled consumer product. This is when the recall is issued but by now the damage is already done. Maybe he can find a lawyer. _How has this incident permanently affected you personally?_ Or maybe just a therapist. _How did that make you feel?_

“What do you want?”

Wonwoo’s eyes devastate, peeling, stripping like paint remover. Soonyoung shivers, remembering now how cold his apartment gets out of the comfort of his bed covers. Not for the first time, he wonders how Wonwoo ever manages it.

He wants to go back to bed and he wants to take Wonwoo with him. He fights the sudden impulse to burst out in his best car salesman voice. That’s right, if you contact the number below, you’ll get a warm bed to sleep in for the small price of a pity kiss! If you call in the next minute, we’ll even throw in a warm Soonyoung for you to use however you please, free of charge!

In other words, Soonyoung is incredibly sleep deprived and possibly on impulse diminishing drugs.

He blames that for why he feels himself gravitating towards Wonwoo. For why he doesn’t step back when Wonwoo reaches out to touch his cheek, his waist. It’s not until he hesitantly knocks their foreheads together that Soonyoung pulls away. Hands trail from his body as he steps slowly back.

What do you want?

“I want you.” Except, this time it’s not enough.

Not when what he means isn’t _I love you,_ but _I want you for ‘nothing but this.’_

“Wonwoo. I don’t want–” he takes another step back, eyes sliding in the space between them– “ _this._ I don’t want you to want a warm body in your bed. I want you to want _me._ ”

“I–” Wonwoo steps forward, reaching. “I do.”

“No– Christ,” Soonyoung sighs. He wonders how close he is to the kitchen. The dark space of the living room stretches out an eternity on either side of him, neverending one way or another. Impossible to escape. “Couldn’t we have done this in a letter like Pride and Prejudice or something?” Wonwoo’s face flickers, suddenly confused. “Nevermind. I just–” he takes a deep breath, fortifying. “I want you to want me if I made you stay the night. Or if we never slept together again. Or if you could have anyone in the _world,_ and you just,” his voice catches in his throat but he pushes past it, “wanted me.”

Soonyoung stops, watching Wonwoo. The space between him and the kitchen doesn’t seem quite so cosmic now, but he holds himself for something else. _Anything_ else.

Wonwoo blinks, swallows.

 _Say anything,_ Soonyoung finds himself wishing, _say anything at all and I’ll forgive you right now._

But he doesn’t say anything.

Soonyoung doesn’t have to trip over Wonwoo to get back through his bedroom door this time.

◖ ◗

“God– you just don’t know when to quit.”

Wonwoo moves to get up from the floor in front of his bedroom, but Soonyoung walks past him, no danger of stepping on him this time with the morning sun lighting up the room. “I thought you left already,” he says without looking back. “You slammed the door. Sounded a hell of a lot like you were leaving.”

Wonwoo’s at his side in seconds– long legs and all– he pauses for a beat when Soonyoung walks into the bathroom, giving him just enough time to shut the door in his face.

“I did leave,” he says, voice raised on the other side of the door. “I came back a couple hours ago.”

Soonyoung squirts toothpaste, perhaps too aggressively– if the long line of it that drops into the sink below has anything to say about it– on his toothbrush. He sighs and turns on the tap, sweeping the toothpaste worm into the drain with his finger.

“Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to be alone for a while.”

Soonyoung glowers at himself in the mirror, says through foaming sweet mint, “I _meant,_ why did you come _back?_ ”

Wonwoo’s soft, _oh,_ is barely audible through the door but Soonyoung watches himself soften in the mirror even still. He spits into the sink.

“Listen, Wonwoo,” he says to himself, bracing his hands over the sink and staring at his own face in the mirror. “I know I broke our rule, or something. We both knew what this was, and now it’s over.” Mirror-Soonyoung is an incredibly good listener, in fact all he does is agree with Soonyoung. What a man. “You know you have nothing to be sorry about. Don’t hang around just because you feel guilty.” That’s right Soonyoung, you fucking tell him.

“Soon-ah, this isn’t a business arrangement. There aren’t rules.”

“We don’t even know each other.” As soon as he says it, he finds it doesn’t agree with him. Or rather, Mirror-Soonyoung doesn’t agree with him. His reflection frowns, disbelieving.

From the other side of the door, he hears Wonwoo scoff, so immediate and unrestrained that Soonyoung knows he’s wrong. Of course they know each other. You don’t have to be more than sex buddies to _know_ each other.

Wonwoo leaves that much unsaid, knows Soonyoung already gets it.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Now it’s Soonyoung’s turn to scoff, laughing almost at his own relfection. “I know I didn’t.”

“Then why does this have to be a thing?”

_Is this gonna be a thing?_

It was always gonna be a thing.

Soonyoung raises a fist, watching the mirror do the same and whispers, “ _Fighting,_ Soonyoung,” before fist bumping himself in solidarity. He turns and opens the door, Wonwoo still standing just where he left him, inches away.

“Because–” he says, finishing a thought– “you leave _every night._ ”

Wonwoo stares at him, face open and confused. “I– what?”

“You do,” Soonyoung says, pushing Wonwoo out of the bathroom doorway with a palm to his chest. “You leave every night. You’re never here except when we’re doing it, or exhausted. And I know it’s not work,” he goes on, pushing Wonwoo to the middle of the living room before taking a few steps back to breathe his own air, “because I asked Mingyu what you do and he told me you work at a community theater, and only on weekdays.”

Wonwoo steps forward and Soonyoung raises his hand to halt him. He stops, compliant, and Soonyoung feels rubbed raw. “We’ve never been on a _date,_ Wonwoo.”

Something delicate fractures in Wonwoo’s expression, and all his features turn down. “I’ll take you on a date,” he says softly, _compromisingly._

Soonyoung huffs. “I don’t want your pity.”

“ _Soonyoung,_ ” Wonwoo cautions, “I have _never_ pitied you.”

He wants to scream, _then why are you here?_ But Wonwoo doesn’t give him the chance, stepping to him and taking him by the arm as if to hold him still. “Let me. Take. You. On a date.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and is panicked to find they are wet with emotion. He swipes at them with the hand not secured by Wonwoo before he can give himself away. “Wonwoo–” he starts to challenge.

“Let’s get married.”

Soonyoung’s jaw drops. Wonwoo watches him with conspiratorial eyes while he tries to regain his composure. “You’re bluffing.”

Wonwoo’s face ripples with a subdued grin. “Yes, but I got you to shut up for a second, didn’t I?”

Soonyoung frowns and shoves his hand off of him. Wonwoo lets himself be swatted away just to slip his hand over Soonyoung’s shoulder instead, sliding around to cup his neck. “I just mean, we can do more, if you still want to. I don’t know if I _love you,_ ” Soonyoung blushes despite himself and Wonwoo notices, corners of his lips lifting subtly– “but this isn’t just sex, anymore. I don’t _want it_ to be _just_ sex.”

Soonyoung breathes out a sigh between them. The ground is holding. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Wonwoo’s other hand slides around the small of his back and he smiles, honest. “I want to.”

⬤

**Author's Note:**

> GOD, this needs so much work, but I wrote the first draft two months ago and I just finished totally rewriting it and I am d o n e now.
> 
> I apologize for the total lack of real plot, also, I know it would be better if some of the scenes were longer, but my patience wells have run incredibly dry, so I'm sorry.
> 
> If you like it anyways, ily. Yell at me about my typos in the comments.


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